


September

by bell (bellaboo)



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 02:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5480516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaboo/pseuds/bell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You said you were going to take care of me." Anakin didn't quite whine-- that wasn't his intention, not in front of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi-- but it sounded like it. He tried to sound less annoying, more mature. "You said you'd train me." He fingered his braid (a new nervous habit of his), made a face and thought to himself, "You made me cut my hair," but didn't dare voice the thought out loud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	September

_**thoughts of a dying atheist (physicality)**_  
  
It had been up to him to carry Qui-Gon's corpse.  
  
He doesn't remember how long he spent there, grieving. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. He thinks it must have been something in between, because when he hauled the body out, daylight still flooded into the spacejet hangar. An ecstatic celebration was being held there, with glitter and cheering woops and excesses of alcoholic beverages. No one noticed, with all the noise, when the doors opened and Obi-Wan shuffled through, his Master's body on his back.  
  
Qui-Gon's body having been larger and heavier than Obi-Wan's, carrying him was no easy task. He could have left it there, called for help, but he had been determined to give Qui-Gon's memory as much honor as possible. It was what he deserved-- deserved far more, in fact, but this was a start. First he tried holding him between his arms, but he did not like how the head swung to and fro, as though it would snap off at any moment.  
  
The best he could do was to lift Qui-Gon's body onto his back, place the arms so that they hung off his shoulder, and hook an arm beneath each knee. The chin of Qui-Gon’s face was supported on his shoulder. Picking up and arranging him thus was a challenge in and of itself. There was no blood, thank goodness, lightsabers sterilized and staunched blood flow. The difficulty was in feeling a face besides his that didn't breath. It was in dealing with an increasingly stiff, unwieldy object, something far heavier than Qui-Gon ever weighed in life.  
  
He refused to use the Force. Obi-Wan couldn't explain why then or now, didn't even want to, but this is what motivated him: Qui-Gon had lost his mind, his Force sensitivity, his emotions, everything. All that remained was his physicality, and that was how Obi-Wan had to make their last connection. Through sweat, through muscle, through physical contact.  
  
Only through sheer devotion was Obi-Wan able to take the time, make the repeated efforts, to pick up Qui-Gon's body up properly and stumble to the exit.  
  
He had no way of knowing what awaited him outside. The war could still be in progress. Obi-Wan carefully planned where and how to hide his Master's corpse until he could finish his mission. If the Trade Federation had, to Naboo's misfortune, won, Obi-Wan would have still found somewhere to hide the body. Then he would have contacted the Order, requested backup, and continued his duty. And fought until it was done or until he too fell, whichever came first.  
  
When he reached the hangar he paused, taking in silently the festival. In truth, he hadn't prepared for this contingency. If his Master had fallen in battle, it only made sense that the whole enterprise would fail. Yet there it was, the evidence of a mission accomplished and well done.   
  
  
_**the new exotic (false endings)**_  
  
"You said you were going to take care of me." Anakin didn't quite whine-- that wasn't his intention, not in front of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi-- but it sounded like it. He tried to sound less annoying, more mature. "You said you'd train me." He fingered his braid (a new nervous habit of his), made a face and thought to himself,  _You made me cut my hair_ , but didn't dare voice the thought out loud.  
  
"I  _will_  take care of you, like I promised." Master Obi-Wan hurried along, and Anakin nearly had to run to keep up with him. "Just not yet. I've been discussing our... situation with Master Yoda and the rest of the Council, and we all agree that I-- that we need more preparation for the next phase."  
  
"Preparation?" Anakin, in the past couple of weeks, had already gone through hours' worth of tutorials on the basics of the Jedi lifestyle, of the common terminology, their tradition and culture, a summary of the Republic's history, and more. He was eager to learn everything, but frankly, his brains felt ready to dribble out both ears and the thought of even more preparation was unwelcome. He wanted to get to the good stuff already, like getting his own lightsaber and piloting.  
  
"Becoming more intimate with the Force, becoming adjusted to the Jedi social order, things like that. The basics. You still have years' worth of training to catch up on, so for the next year you'll be living and taking classes with the other Jedi younglings, and on the side you'll receive individual tutoring. We all thought that this would be the best way to adjust to Coruscant and the Jedi order." Anakin wondered why he himself hadn't been asked what would be best for him. He did have opinions of his own. "Meanwhile, I'll be doing some studying of my own."  
  
"Really?  _You_?" Master Obi-Wan seemed to know everything already, what did he have left to learn? Though Anakin felt guilty for thinking this, he also thought that Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had to have been as good as, if not better, a fighter than Qui-Gon to have survived the fight against Darth Maul. Qui-Gon seemed to know absolutely everything, too. Anakin was sorry that he died. He'd have liked to have been his Padawan.  
  
"A Jedi," Obi-Wan said blandly, "never stops learning. And here we are."  
  
Anakin looked at the door, several meters tall. The entrance to the Jedi younglings' dormitories. He looked at Master Obi-Wan, who, even when standing perfectly straight, was considerably shorter than the door before them. His expression was guarded, almost frowning. A bit imposing. But he was much more familiar than anything here. He had been Qui-Gon's friend. He had to be a good person. "So... we won't see each other for another year?" Anakin asked timidly, restraining the temptation to touch Master Obi-Wan's hand. He didn't seem fond of contact.  
  
"I'll come see you from time to time, of course. To make sure you're doing all right."  
  
"When? How often?" Anakin was embarrassed even as the words came out his mouth; he was being childish around Master Obi-Wan again.  
  
"Often enough, I suppose."  
  
Anakin nodded, okay. It was better than nothing.   
  
  
_**the new exotic (true beginnings)**_  
  
As the only thing he owned were the clothes on his back ("everything else," they had explained to him, "we'll provide you with as you need it"), there was no unpacking to be done. Anakin wished there was. Then he'd have something to do, instead of sitting on his bed and watching everyone else pretend not to watch him. He wasn't quite sure what to do. He knew the others were dying to talk to him, and maybe he should be the one to break the ice. But nothing was like it should be here. Coruscantians, Jedis, all of them, they were so weird.  
  
If this were Tatooine, what would he do? Well, for one thing, this wouldn't happen on Tatooine. Everyone in his part of town knew him, and he knew everyone. Anyone else was a newcomer.  
  
This was pointless. He'd go crazy sitting on his bed all day. He got off, walked out of the room and into the corridor.  
  
Anakin felt eyes follow him.  
  
He looked from side to side, trying to decide where to go. After Obi-Wan had dropped him off, one of the Masters in charge had given him a quick tour of the younglings' part of the Temple. If he remembered correctly, straight ahead was the exit (or entrance, depending on your point of view), to the right were all the classrooms, and to the left were the fun rooms, like the library and the training grounds. It was the late afternoon, classes were out, but maybe there were other apprentices practicing their lightsaber skills. Anakin  </b>still</b> didn't have a lightsaber. So he'd just watch.  
  
As it turned out, there were other younglings in one of the training rooms, but no lightsabers. Some were talking, some were sparring, some were watching. At least there was stuff going on, and no one was staring at him. Maybe he could blend in here, better than in his dormitory. He slipped in, tried to watch one of the sparring matches inconspicuously.  
  
He didn't recognize the style of fighting. Then again, he was used to the simple, no-hands-legs-or-tentacles-barred spats of Tatooine street urchins. None of the formalities, or the acrobats these guys were pulling off. Anakin's chin fell when one of the younglings did a double-flip into the air and kicked the other in the chin.  _Cool_ , he thought. They were the same age as him, or close enough, and they could do things like that. Anakin hoped he'd catch up soon.  
  
"Hey," a voice said besides him. Finally! It was a girl Twi'lek, with blue skin. Funny, he didn't know that Twi'leks could be Jedi too. "You're the new kid, right?"  
  
"Yeah," Anakin replied eagerly, "I just got here. I'm Anakin Skywalker." He frowned when she started to laugh. "What's so funny?"  
  
"Sorry," she said, "it's your accent. I've never heard anyone talk like you."  _Funny_ , Anakin thought,  _I thought it was all of you who spoke weird_.  
  
"I'm Aayla Secura," she introduced herself, "So what's your story? You're the oldest any youngling has been brought in to be trained."  
  
"I know. They almost didn't let me in."  
  
Ayala nodded. "They're very strict with rules here. The human cut-off age is usually seven years old."  
  
Some of the other younglings had, by now, gathered round them. Ayala continued with the questions. "You must be really special if they let you in."  
  
"I don't think so," Anakin "Qui-Gon just said I had the talent to be a Jedi, and that he had faith in me."  
  
"Master Jinn?" Aayla asked. "You met him before he died?"  
  
"Yeah, he died shortly after we met. I went to his funeral."  
  
She frowned. "His funeral was on Naboo. Is that where you‘re from?"  
  
"No, Tatooine." At their blank stares, "it's in the Outer Rim of the galaxy. It's not quite a part of the Republic." Everyone sort of wow-ed. "You guys aren't all from Coruscant, are you?"  
  
"No," Aayla shook her head, "we're from all over. But none of us are from the Outer Rim, and we've all grown up on Coruscant. We haven't really been anywhere else. Yet." She added that last bit determinedly. "We'll go traveling after we've become Padawans."  
  
"If," one of the younglings muttered.  
  
"Not if!" Ayala exclaimed. "I'm definitely becoming a Padawan! And a Jedi Knight!"  
  
"Not everyone becomes a Padawan? Why? What happens?" Anakin asked.  
  
"Some-- who knows why-- decide that they don't want to be Jedi. And others don't get picked by a Master, so there's no one to train them."  
  
"Not everyone has a Master?" Anakin suddenly felt all the curious looks at him become mildly hostile.  
  
"Do you, Anakin?"  
  
"Um... Master Obi-Wan promised he'd train me...." He looked around; no one seemed to like this news.  
  
"Master Kenobi? But no one has a Master before becoming a Jedi youngling!" Aayla complained. "And he's not even a Jedi Knight yet! He's not ready to train anyone."  
  
And suddenly, Anakin was very angry. He was tired of being stared at like some freak case, and he was very tired of his new environment. He clenched his fist. He might not know how to do all those fancy flips yet, but he knew how to kick hard. "Take that back!"  
  
"Why should I?" Ayala raised her chin, tried to make her inch or two of height over Anakin's seem larger. "It's true. You think you can come here out of the middle of nowhere, completely untrained and totally over the age limit, and show off that you've already got a Master all picked out?  
  
"I don’t think anything! That's just how it is!"  
  
Anakin wasn't quite sure who threw the first punch, but the other was definitely quick to follow. They didn't stop fighting until a Jedi Master came, running, and tore them apart. Anakin had the feeling that they'd tell Master Obi-Wan that he'd gotten into a fight on his first day there, and he wasn't happy about that. He was also sorry that his first conversation had ended so badly; he hadn't made any friends today. Still, he couldn't help but be proud: he was the one with no training whatsoever, but he had managed to hold his own. And Aayla was definitely limping afterwards.  
  
That'd show her and all the other stuck-up younglings.  
  
  
_**lady madonna (unsent)**_  
  
No one wanted to hear about this mother. Some of his classmates snickered, some of them hid their amusement, and all thought him ridiculous for missing her. "Baby," they called him, and after that Anakin never mentioned her to them again. His teachers seemed an unlikely audience, and indeed, when he mentioned her, they told him gently that it was better to forget her altogether. He could not imagine telling Master Obi-Wan anything, even if he were around to hear it.  
  
There was no one else in Anakin's life.  
  
So when he missed her, which was always, he wrote her letters he could not send. He wrote about the spare parts he was covertly collecting for his next (undecided) project, about the strange expressions they used on Coruscant, about the progress he was making in his classes. It was all about him, but what he really wanted was to know how  _she_  was.  
  
  
_**when i see your heavens (darkness)**_  
  
Though it was time for any ten-year old to be asleep, Obi-Wan did not expect to find his Padawan in bed, or even in his room. It had been a week since they'd started living together, and not on one of those nights Anakin had stayed in his room. Anakin had developed the habit of, after saying good-night to Obi-Wan, sneaking out of their quarters and wandering about the Temple grounds.  
  
Obi-Wan managed to sense him out in the Force and find him before long, though that was the easy part. It was what to do afterwards that tripped him. Should he admonish Anakin? But that didn't feel right. The boy probably got too used to dormitory life, with the constant company of other Jedi younglings, and was restless without their company. This was one of those "phases" he had heard so much about, something that would pass as Anakin settled into his new lifestyle. No need for punishments, he just had to find him before he wandered off too far and into the city. Obi-Wan didn't think Anakin was ready to be alone in Coruscant.  
  
Tonight Anakin hadn't gone far. He went to the closest place with access to the open sky: their apartment's balcony. Anakin sat on the floor, knees hugged to his chest, staring straight up. Obi-Wan stepped next to him, and paused, trying to pick out what to say. As it turned out, for Anakin spoke first. "You don't have stars."  
  
"Of my own, no. Jedi have no possessions."  
  
"Hahah," Anakin said in monotone. "Not you. Coruscant." He nodded up at the dark skies.  
  
"It's from the lights of the city. They're so bright that they block out the stars."  
  
"Yeah." Anakin rested his chin on his knees, his eyes still looking upwards. "My mom says that when you make a wish, it becomes a star after it's granted. So the stars are a collection of all the wishes that have come true."  
  
"You know better than that, Padawan. Stars are massive gaseous balls in space."  
  
"I know." Anakin hid his face in the space between his knees and chest. "But I like her version better."  
  
"Anakin.  _Anakin_. Look at me." He did. "A Jedi doesn't need wishes. A Jedi can make things happen on their own."  
  
"But, like... don't you have any wishes that can't make true?"  
  
The image of a familiar, beloved, and dearly missed face flashed through Obi-Wan's mind. But he wipes the image from his mind as quickly as it appeared. "Anything that can't be done isn't worth wishing for. It's a waste of time and effort."  
  
"None, Master? Absolutely none?"  
  
"Do you have any?"  
  
"I want to see mom again. I want to be a Jedi."  
  
"There you go. They're all possible, you don't need wishes."  
  
Anakin sighs, looks back up. "I like Tatooine's better. Your sky is depressing."  
  
  
  
_**cat (just like)**_  
  
Silence. Stealth. Use the enemy's own weapons against them. These were techniques Anakin had been honing during his time as a Jedi Padawan, but where he had been at it for, at most, five months, this species had had thousands millennia to perfect their art.  
  
The trick, for now, was to actually  _find_  his prey. Hiding places there were plenty, especially in this forest terrain. If his Master were here to give him advice, what would he say? Concentrate. Well, yeah, can we say  _duh_? He'd also say, Use The Force. This is why Anakin hated how his Master talked in clichés. So many words, and none of it meant anything.  
  
Though, actually, that last one might not be a bad idea. Anakin closed his eyes and did his best to ignore five of his senses to better focus on the sixth: his connection to the force. He could feel, all around him, the life of things green; a muted sort pulse, a constant stream of being. That wasn't what he was looking for. He could feel his own self here, and not far away he felt his Master's familiar presence. But, here, there was one heart besides his own, and it was--  
  
There. Right behind him, a few feet up in the air.  
  
He turned around, and scanned the branches. For all their stealth skills, its species had never picked up the genetic traits of a chameleon. So this cat's black fur stood out against the mixture of brown and green it reposed in. Its eyes, though, blended in perfectly. The cat stared at him, unblinkingly. How unnerving. What kind of a creature doesn't blink?  
  
Anakin stepped forward and winced; the dead leaves he had just crunched made the cat get up on all fours, back arched. Couldn't he be quiet when it  _mattered_? Telling himself fiercely to be quiet  _this_  time, he stepped forward again. The cat sat on its haunches, still looking at him suspiciously. If it would just do him the favor of not moving... Surprisingly, it did. Anakin got within arm's reach and the cat was still there, as though it were glued in time. Or to the branch.  
  
What now? It couldn't be as easy as picking the cat up. Shouldn't it, like, be hissing by now? Or scratching his face out? Or  _something_?  
  
"Heeere, kitty," Anakin muttered, "here kitty." He held his arms open wide. The cat blinked at him, licked the back of its paw, then used the paw to clean behind its ear.  
  
If Anakin didn't know better, he'd think that the cat was mocking him.  
  
"C'mon, kitty. Come to me." No more being passive. Casually, as though he was in the mood to wave his arm about in no particular, he reached for the cat. Oh,  _now_  the cat hissed. Squinted its eyes at him so that only a sliver of its slit eyes could be seen. Well. He was sick and tired of feline-guessing games, and there were no two easy ways of doing this anyway. If he had to end up as a big pile of scratches, then so be it.  
  
Anakin grabbed the cat so fast that not even it saw him coming.  
  
He was still in one piece. Nice.  
  
"Miau," it complained.  
  
"What are you complaining about?" Anakin complained back at it.  
  
"Miau," it insisted. Maybe it didn't like being held from beneath the joint of its upper legs. But holding it any other way would mean giving the cat proximity to his head, and he wanted to minimize the damage to his face. "Miaaaau," it yowled, and squirmed.  
  
"Fine, fine, I get it." He moved around so that the cat was now cradled in both his arms. That's when it started acting really weird. The cat rubbed its left ear against Anakin's upper-arm and emitted a loud, vibrating sound. Anakin was so surprised by the noise that he nearly dropped. He was further unnerved when the cat, again, wiped the side of its face against him.  
  
Nervously, careful to balance the cat on one arm, he scratched the cat behind the ear. The vibration increased so that its whole body shook. Anakin took that, and the fact that all his fingers were still intact, as a good sign.  
  
"Well done, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, stepping into sight, "you passed with flying colors. Just as I expected from you."  
  
"Did you know, Master?" Anakin asked, scritching beneath the cat's chin, "this cat is just like you."  
  
  
_**wish (wishes)**_  
  
Though he doesn't mean to, Obi-Wan does have wishes.  
  
They're nestled away somewhere out of his consciousness' reach, together with all other thoughts and emotions Anakin has spurned him into having. His colleagues would be alarmed to see how much his Padawan has influenced him, especially in light of how unJedi Anakin is (in his upbringing and inherit). Obi-Wan, too, might be worried if he realized how much he‘s changed by him. But such is the nature of Anakin's influence over him: concepts that once seemed so alien have become integral parts of him.  
  
But, wishes: he wishes he were as good a Master as Qui-Gon had been to him. He wishes Anakin wouldn't provoke all these unnecessary fights between them; they're nothing more than disguised struggles for power in which Anakin fiercely delineate the outer boundary of his limits (Obi-Wan stubbornly holds his ground). He wishes for the occasional moment of peace from his full-time job of training a Padawan.  
  
Most of all, he wishes that one day Anakin will become a great Jedi, greater than himself, greater than Qui-Gon, greater than even Yoda. But this is not so much a wish as it is a certainty.  
  
  
_**chasing the metaphysical express (repetitions)**_  
  
"The Force," Obi-Wan starts, "is filled with cycles. Circles. Repetitions. Themes. A beginning is an ending, and an ending is a beginning. Just as things rise, they inevitably fall. Like life, like galaxies, like civilizations. Nothing is permanent, yet there will always be something to take its place."  
  
Over the years Anakin has learned to mask his boredom, but over that same time period Obi-Wan has learned how to read his body language, every single sign of it. He knows that his Padawan is stifling a yawn. "Are you going to recite clichés all day long?"  
  
"Have you ever considered, Anakin, that clichés became clichés for a  _reason_?"  
  
"No, Master, I never consider anything without you telling me to." He had that grin that made Obi-Wan simultaneously want to rattle his head and scruff his hair.  
  
"Look. We're doing this lesson no matter how much you resist. The faster we get through this, the sooner we get to sparring practice. Understand?"  
  
"Yes, Master." The lesson begins once more.  
  
  
_**herr doktor (emergency)**_  
  
He is calm, unwaveringly calm, even as he can feel the blood pounding in his ears, even as Anakin, slung over his shoulders, grows increasingly cold. Heavier, too, as if gravity itself were trying to pull his body into the ground. Obi-Wan does not reflect on this. He focuses on the task before him. Holding a lightsaber against the closest thing to a medic on this planet, he speaks in a level voice. "I don't think you understand, so I'll explain it very clearly. This is how it's going to be: you are not only going to operate on Anakin, you are going to save him."  
  
The medic's vocal cords weren't made for Basic, she croaks it out with a strong accent. "You are my enemy. I will not save your friend."  
  
"We're not your--" Anakin had lost consciousness miles ago and was struggling more than ever with breathing. There was no time. "If you don't start doing something now, I  _will_  use this."  
  
She eyes the lightsaber, his expression. "I am not familiar with carbon-based life forms."  
  
"I'm versed in human biology, I'll tell you everything you need to know." She waves at the table, and after turning off his lightsaber, Obi-Wan lays Anakin down on the flat surface. The medic unwraps the make-shift band-aid, now dyed red, that Obi-Wan had made out of Anakin's tunic. Obi-Wan forces himself to watch.  
  
The medic taps the center of the puncture wounds, the place where the small sharp metal pieces pierced through Anakin and where they're lodged still. "We need to get these out. Are there any vital organs here I should be aware of?"  
  
In the back of his head he starts to scream, but Obi-Wan does not hear. "His right lung, and be careful with the muscle tissue. It's sensitive and he needs it."  
  
  
_**chinatown fiction (night out)**_  
  
Anakin was having difficulties focusing, be it to look at anything within eyesight or on single thoughts. His head was light, as if it were hollow, and at the same time his eyes, his body, were heavy, so heavy that he wished he could lie down on the flat surface before him. Perhaps then he'd sleep, and with the sleep he'd be cured of this legarthy and confusion. But it was too hot to sleep. Hot from all the bodies crammed in this room. Bodies that gave off smells, either of pungently strong perfumes pleasant only to other species or of creatures who smelled foul by nature. "Master, this sucks."  
  
"What kind of a teenager doesn't like to drink?" Obi-Wan was incredulous.  
  
Anakin raised his right hand, tried to hold it flat before him. In spite of his efforts, it trembled. "It's like I've lost control."  
  
"Isn't that the point?" Obi-Wan sipped his Blue Hoth Kiss, his elbows resting on the bar behind him that he leaned against. It was hard to tell in the dim lighting and with the weakening of his eyesight, but Anakin thought Obi-Wan's eyes might be half-closed and that something like a smile was playing on his face. He felt a deep, childish resentment that Obi-Wan could find pleasure in this barbaric tradition.  
  
"It's freaky. Seriously freaky."  
  
"It's good to let go sometimes, my young Padawan."  
  
"Don't wanna." Anakin glared at the two inches left in his drink. Two more inches of hell. He could knock himself unconscious if drank those last two inches. Worse, he might lose his mind altogether and, say, hit on the Hutt bar-tender. Or decide it was Naked Time. How could anyone drink with the threat of those kinds of dangers?  
  
"Think of it as training," he suggested. "For the day when enemy forces have fed you alcohol and you have to escape whilst drunk."  
  
Anakin blinked, tried to think the situation through. "Has that ever happened to any of the Jedi, Master?"  
  
"Not that I know of, but that doesn't mean it won't happen. Aren't you going to finish your Hairy Wookie?"  
  
  
_**loneliness and desire (fixation)**_  
  
His thoughts, inevitably, return to Padmé. His brain is chained to a spot, and it is doomed to go round about in circles, treading the same ground over and over again. There is nothing new and there never will be, but as much as he would like to explore new territory, he cannot break out of the loop.   
  
He has difficulty visualizing her, cannot remember obvious things. How long is her hair, is it naturally curly or is it like that because of all the treatment she puts it through? The color of eyes, how can he not know the color of her eyes? He should have paid more attention when he had the chance, and would have, if only he'd known. He is convinced that, if only he can reconstruct her fully in his mind's eye, he can banish her for once and for all. He can't.  
  
Instead, Padmé haunts his thoughts as half a figure, half a concept.   
  
When he's not thinking of her, his thoughts turn to the other half of the circle, Anakin. Anakin he sees with frustrating clarity. It comes from long years of observation. Obi-Wan does not think there is a movement of his he has not memorized, not a single expression he cannot call to mind. Yet despite the extent of his visual Anakin library, there is one expression he is stuck on: the longing that overcomes his face whenever the subject of Padmé is brought up. And it galls him. It galls him knowing that Anakin feels that way, and worse, that he feels that way around Padmé now, without Obi-Wan there to stop him. Because here he is, heading off in the opposite direction, looking for some planet that's not even  _on the database_. Without Anakin. Who is with Padmé. His thoughts turn full circle and begin another round.  
  
  
_**what we had i cannot even say (none of your business)**_  
  
Teacher greets apprentice when he lands; Jedi aren't big on touching yet they exchange hugs. They passed through a lot and it is good to see each other whole, parts replaced with metal or no.  
  
His first word is, "See?"  
  
"See what? You? Certainly I do, you're standing in front of me."  
  
" _See_ , I completed a mission all on my own, despite your doubts."  
  
"And dragged your charge, whose life you were meant to protect, from planet to planet, endangering her life multiple times."  
  
Annoyed-- all Anakin wanted was a 'congratulations, good job' from his Master- he jabbed back, "My mission didn't end with my being rescued by most of the Jedi Order and an army of clones." He regrets having said this even before he is done saying the words, and awaits the reprimand that's sure to come.   
  
Instead of reprimanding, Obi-Wan takes this with a slow nod.   
  
The two start walking towards the building, leaving the landing base. So much to say, but they do not want to speak. Anakin is recalcitrant, and suddenly Obi-Wan feels exhausted, thinking of how disastrously the last Jedi battle went and how much more they have ahead of them. But it has to be asked: "What were you doing on Tatooine?"  
  
Anakin answers immediately, like he's expecting this. "Nothing."  
  
"Yes, of course, nothing. When you say 'nothing' are you referring to your mother?" Silence. And anger that he'd been holding in thus far. "I take it that she isn't well."  
  
"It's none of your business," he replies defensively. Obi-Wan wants to insist: yes, it is, it's interfering with your training, with your mind.   
  
  
_**arrangement in black and gold (testing)**_  
  
You tap the fingers, one by one, and they twitch back, almost as if there really were muscle springing back into position. You curl them up into a ball, squeeze, realize that they're not cold. They have a mechanical warmth, the kind of you feel from resting your hands on keyboards or emanating from HoloNet screens. You squeeze harder, taking note of Anakin's barely perceptible flinch-- from surprise or from pain? The edges from all the bits cut into your skin, and it almost hurts. But your hands are too calloused for that. You let go.  
  
"So far so good. Doesn't  _look_  anything like a hand--"  
  
"It does the job." He grabs you by the wrist, squeezing you just as hard. Harder.  
  
  
_**a winter morning like any other (war)**_  
  
Obi-Wan took a deep breath, inhaling in what felt like pure ice, and exhaled, watching the fog that came out of his mouth. It was a bit of a relief to see this physical manifestation of his continued existence. "Come along, Anakin, I've received a communication saying that our troops to the north are getting massacred. If we hurry, we can save a few hundred of our clone soldiers."  
  
Anakin shivered, trying to huddle as much warmth as possible. "And keep ourselves from freezing to death. I could use a good fight right about now!"  
  
"Not wanting to die is a ridiculous reason to fight," Obi-Wan chided him.  
  
They left the corpses behind.  
  
  
_**fourth avenue cafe (civilization)**_  
  
  
"I don't remember giving you permission to take my fries," Obi-Wan commented wryly.  
  
"You didn't," Anakin said-- the words were kind of garbled, since his mouth full. "But you think that after all those months roughing out in the wilderness I have  _any_ remnants of civilization? It was a dog-eat-dog world!"  
  
"Human-eat-bug, you mean," Obi-Wan shuddered. "Thanks so much for reminding me."  
  
"Oh, come on, they weren't half so bad. You're just an incurable prude."  
  
"I have  _taste_. That's different."  
  
"They were tasty! Crunchy with a creamy inside, like." Anakin took advantage of Obi-Wan's distraction while gagging to stab himself another set of fries.  
  
"For crying out loud, Anakin, if you want to eat fries that badly, we'll order you your own batch."  
  
"Nah, they taste better when they're yours."  
  
"Is that so."  
  
"It's been scientifically proven-- stolen food is something like 1000% times better."  
  
"Well, if  _science_  tells us so--" Obi-Wan smiled, "I better believe it." Without even looking at Anakin's plate, he levitated towards himself the half-eaten hamburger.  
  
"Hey!" The hamburger, which had been traveling so merrily in mid-air, halted. "No fair using the Force!"  
  
"Same to you, old friend." Both were now staring intently at the floating hamburger, which started to tremble slightly.   
  
"What about all that about inappropriate uses of the Force?"  
  
"It's not inappropriate when you use it to teach valuable lessons." Obi-Wan looked up at Anakin, raising one eyebrow. The hamburger flew at the glass behind Obi-Wan's head, where it suffered a tremendous splatter. The pieces slid down the wall, messily. Anakin gaped at Obi-Wan.   
  
"Kenobi! Skywalker!" Dex's voice boomed from the counter. "Maybe this ain't the classiest joint in the galaxy, but have some respect, ya? I've got a business to run."  
  
"Sorry, Dex," the two Jedi chimed.  
  
  
_**to aurora, not to hurry (excuses)**_  
  
He blamed it on combat stress reaction. A few weeks back, in response to growing incompetence displayed by the clone troops, a memo was sent to him and his troops detailing the various psychological and mental effects war had on the homo sapiens species and how to best treat these symptoms. At the time he'd given it but a passing glance, thinking it rubbish for amateurs, though now, as he spent his third night in a row awake, it was the best explanation he could come up with. It had to be combat stress reaction or post-traumatic stress disorder or whatever other psycho-babble terms they slapped onto soldiers who were losing their minds.  
  
It was the only thing that made sense, though Obi-Wan didn't remember if "watching, for hours on end, your team partner sleep" was one of the listed symptoms.   
  
  
_**the observed observer (staring contest)**_  
  
"You're staring at me again."  
  
Obi-Wan looked up from the map he'd been studying. Plastic pieces of several shapes and of two colors were arranged all over the map. The shapes represented the different kinds of battle units, and the colors established whose they were. Red for the separatists, blue for the Federation. "What are you talking about? I haven't looked at you for the past fifteen minutes." It was true; he'd been working out tomorrow's tactics ever since he'd tumbled back into their tent.  
  
"You're not doing it now. At least not staring-staring."  
  
"Anakin." Obi-Wan buried his face in his hands. Anakin noticed, for the first time, how long Obi-Wan's hair had grown. His front locks, when they covered his face, were long enough to cover his nose. It wasn't for lack of materials. There were plenty of sharp things around, and the lightsabers served as a last resort. "Please try to make sense. No games."  
  
"I'm not playing with you." Now that he was paying attention, he also saw how Obi-Wan's hair had arranged itself in greasy clumps. Felt the greasiness from his own hair. He'd go outside the next time it rained, it was the closest thing to a 'fresher he could get. "There are ways to stare without looking, like through the Force, I felt you feeling out for me all of today. And you're not staring at me now, but you were before. Out of the corner of your eye."  
  
Obi-Wan crossed his arms. "First of all, I was feeling you through the Force to make sure your head and no other body parts had been destroyed. Believe it or not, I do like to know that you're all right, and you weren't in my direct line of sight. Second of all, I have no clue what you're talking about. I think you're being paranoid." That said and done, Obi-Wan went back to his map, the wrinkle between his eyes furrowing further.  
  
I'm not, Anakin thought petulantly. Just because he didn't know how to express it didn't mean it wasn't true. There was no concrete proof he could draw up, but he had the distinct that feeling that Obi-Wan had staring at him, furtively, for a while now. He knew what it was liked to be watched by Obi-Wan. After all, that's what Obi-Wan did when he'd still been his official Master and teacher: watch and critique. He had kept on watching after Anakin had been knighted-- old habits die hard. But there was plenty to occupy his attention, and he'd started to let Anakin off on his own. Now Obi-Wan's eyes were back on him. Not openly, like before, but like a secret, so that by the time Anakin had turned around, Obi-Wan was looking in another direction.  
  
He fingered his hair and felt bad for Obi-Wan. He wasn't much to look at, these days.  
  
  
_**almost gothic (no cure)**_  
  
So long it had taken him to acknowledge it for what it was, it had, like a cancer, spread throughout him. Not a single vein, nerve, or organ was unaffected; his being strums, hums, with it. It has invaded his body, infecting first a single cell then all the others. In his blindness it has overtaken him, and in the initial shock of realization he cannot breath.  
  
He loves Anakin. He is in love with Anakin Skywalker.  
  
Anakin, present during this epiphany, notices something off. "What? Is there still oil on my face?" He wipes at his right cheek vigorously, accidentally spreading oil from his fingers onto his face.  
  
"No," Obi-Wan manages despite the lack of breathing. Without his bidding a fantasy plays out in his mind, one that he's had a thousand times without noticing: he kisses Anakin, who kisses him back, who does not protest to be laid on his back. "None. Don't forget to check the muli-link suspension."  
  
  
_**here we are (early sunrise)**_  
  
Sunrise came early on this planet, only a few hours after night fall. Hours which Obi-Wan spent awake, at first losing himself in Anakin, then, afterwards, staring into the darkness. Anakin had fallen asleep somewhere in between, and Obi-Wan held him, grateful for and apprehensive with his warmth.  
  
Anakin had long since grown taller, more muscled, than his Master, yet he looked so small now, curled up and drooling a little onto Obi-Wan's shoulder.  _Just an illusion_ , Obi-Wan thought to himself, tracing a finger down the side of Anakin's face, rubbing his thumb across his lips to wipe away the moisture.  
  
"Well," Obi-Wan sighed, "here we are."  
  
  
_**a secret unlit room (secret to all parties)**_  
  
Anakin had thought his marriage to Padmé was a secretive business, but it was nothing compared to his on-going fling with Obi-Wan. At least with Padmé the both of them admitted to being in love. No one else could know, but they were in it together. With Obi-Wan, no one could know, period. Not even the two of them, the ones actually sleeping together. As if that were possible! Like they could sweep the facts under the rug, wipe their hands from the dust, and go on their merry ways, whistling an innocent tune. Anakin thought it was crazy, and tried telling him so, but Obi-Wan wouldn't suffer any references to their having sex except during the act, and talking about their lack of talking was not something he wanted to do when he could be, well, enjoying having sex.  
  
Obi-Wan never initiated any of their sessions, either; it was entirely up to Anakin. If he hadn't spent years deciphering him without the aid of a dictionary, Anakin would have never understood the signs that meant, I want you, or I'd jump you right now if I weren't such a prissy repressed prude, or the subtle I may look like I'm trying to be seductive but actually all I want is to collapse into my sleeping bag and be unconscious until it's time for more maiming. By now Anakin was fluent in Obi-Wan's body-language and indirect speech, greatly facilitating their sexual relations.  
  
Actually, it was a big pain, trying to figure out exactly what Obi-Wan wanted, what he thought, what he meant. If it weren't worth it, Anakin wouldn't bother. But it was so worth it. With Obi-Wan's body next to him, Anakin let go of tensions he didn't even realize he'd been holding in. It's not that, with him, Anakin forgot about the war. No, it was actually the contrary, for in a way, Obi-Wan was a personification of the fighting. He could not look at Obi-Wan and not think of the war. Anakin could see it both in his fresh wounds (bruises, burns, cuts) and in the scars from days past. He could smell it, in the 'ship fuel and the mould of unwashed clothes. He could even feel it as he slipped his fingers down Obi-Wan's pronounced rib-cage. Not for one moment did Anakin forget the war when he was with Obi-Wan, but somehow, that was part of the appeal.  
  
Kissing was great, too. He felt like he really came to know Obi-Wan through his kissing. All these years he'd seen Obi-Wan as aloof, calm, centered. Traits that disappeared when they joined mouths. There was biting, and tongues, and lips, in such a way that Anakin thought he would be devoured. The person he'd known as Master seemed to be replaced by this whole new man: same features, different personality. The other good thing about kissing was that, when Obi-Wan's mouth was busy, there was no danger of receiving reprimands.  
  
But what Anakin really liked about having sex with Obi-Wan was how much he got to touch him. He couldn't get enough of that. He wanted to Obi-Wan's weight on him, wanted to have him pinned beneath him, wanted them to lie side by side with their legs entwined. He wanted everything, so long as it meant that their naked skin brushed against each other. If that all that touching led to hugging, kissing, and stroking, then so be it; and, if as a consequence of those, erections arose, Anakin was all right with that too. The orgasms were an after-thought, a pleasant side-effect.  
  
  
_**on friendship (definition)**_  
  
"Friends," you say decisively, though your heart is hammering away. You are not used to fear, not comfortable in its clutches; when was the last time you were its victim? Oh, yes; when this man before you, who does not believe you, was slipping into unconsciousness from the blood loss and you didn't have the provisions to save him.  
  
"Friends," he repeats, with a question mark almost implied at the end. Then he leans over that short distance, bites your earlobe, licks it. The jolt goes straight from your ear to your cock, making you harder than you already were. You do not moan-- though only for dignity's sake, because he could fuck you, right now, right here, right against this wall.  
  
A Jedi can sense these things. Fear. Arousal.  
  
"All right, you've made your point. What are we, then."  
  
"I don't know, but friends sure isn't it."  
  
  
_**your eyes closed (older ghosts)**_  
  
It was when their breaths started to even out that he asked, "Did you ever do this with Qui-Gon?"   
  
Still breathing deeply, Obi-Wan closed his eyes. "The things you ask, Anakin." He was lying on his back, arms limp; Anakin was on his side, his head propped up with his mechanical hand.   
  
"Did you?" His other hand, the human one, rubbed slowly, rhythmically, against Obi-Wan's chest. This, and the post coital, kept them both calm.   
  
"No. Never. Not once."   
  
"But you wanted to."   
  
"Do we really have to talk about this?"  
  
"Please, Obi-Wan." Anakin rarely called him by name, however much Obi-Wan tried to convince him to do otherwise (he wasn't comfortable with how Anakin moaned "Master"). Saying "Obi-Wan" was his way of reminding that he was the one who wanted to have a relationship of equals. That part of being equals was to not to tell the other when to shut up or how to behave. (Of course, Anakin only complied when it served his interests.) "I've been wondering."  
  
Opening his eyes, Obi-Wan stared straight up at the ceiling. For some reason he could not bare to look at Anakin. "Yes. I did."  
  
"Tell me about it."  
  
"Anakin--"  
  
"I want to understand this better. Help me."  
  
What, exactly, did he mean by 'this'? The ex-Master-and-Padawan relationship? His past? Damn him, Obi-Wan thought, damn him for saying 'help me.' "I... I don't remember very well. It's not as if I kept a diary. Or thought much about it." Unbidden, fragments of memories rose: his heart in his throat as he watched Qui-Gon going about pedestrian tasks, like reading the HoloNews or brushing his teeth. How that feeling overcame him more frequently as time passed. Waking up one night from a particularly vivid, erotic dream. Being unable to face his master the next day. "I was attracted to him. That's all."  
  
"Did he know?" He does not ask, did you tell him?  
  
"I don't know." Sometimes he could have sworn that Qui-Gon gave him these  _looks_ , of benevolent pity, but that could have been his guilty conscious working overtime. Other times he thought that Qui-Gon was excessively considerate of his body, of his space. "Maybe." He felt Anakin caress his left cheek, let himself bask in the comfort the touch elicited. "I suppose it doesn't really matter."  
  
"There you go again, pretending you're made of stone." Anakin's tone was hard to interpret. Half-amused? Preachy? Disappointed? It seemed to dance around all of those without touching a single one. "You should be more honest with yourself."  
  
For the first time since Anakin had rolled off him, he was able to look him straight in the eyes. "When, exactly, did you start to lecture me?"   
  
Obi-Wan was strangely satisfied by the annoyance written all over Anakin's face.  
  
  
_**being as of yet but a girl (justification)**_  
  
" _Say_  something, Padmé."  
  
"I can't think of anything." She shifted down a couple of inches on the couch so that their bodies were no longer touching.  
  
"Then do something! Yell. Scream. Hit me," Anakin suggested.  
  
"What good would that do? I'd still be but a girl and you'd still let Kenobi fuck you."  
  
"It's not like that. Don't say it like that."  
  
"Oh, excuse me, I must have misunderstood the 'I'm having an affair with Obi-Wan' speech you just gave me."  
  
"It's not an affair! You don't think it is, do you? It's you I love."  
  
"You want me to believe you don't love him? Have you ever heard yourself talk? 'Obi-wan told me he was proud of my behavior during the Jedi Council meeting today!' 'I think Obi-Wan is angry at me again, what should I do?' 'Obi-Wan said the funniest thing during lunch!' 'Obi-wan gives the best blow-jobs!' He's all you ever go on about. You bend over backwards trying to please him!"  
  
"Padmé!" Anakin exclaimed, shocked.  
  
"Don't 'Padmé' me."  
  
"I wouldn't have said anything if I knew you'd get this angry!"  
  
Padmé stood up, narrowing her eyes down at Anakin. "What?"  
  
Anakin rose to his feet as well, but instead of towering over Padmé, he started pacing back and forth, turning around violently whenever he reached the boundaries of an invisible line. "It doesn't make any difference, you know it doesn't. You're my wife, Padmé. You're the love of my life." Abruptly he stopped pacing and took a lock of Padmé's hair, caressing it between the tips of his fingers. He'd been close to shouting, but now he almost whispered. "Why can't you understand?"  
  
"Oh, Annie...." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "That's exactly why you have to tell me everything. Because we're married." One arm still around his shoulder, she reached for his hand and wrapped it into a fist, the strands of her hair interlacing between his fingers. She kissed this fist on the knuckles, her lips touching the combination of his skin and her hair. "We're one person."  
  
Raising his hand, he kissed the same place she had. "And that's why me having sex with Obi-Wan doesn't mean anything."  
  
She shook her head. "I can't believe you don't love him."  
  
"Okay, I do love him, but, like--"  
  
"If you say 'like a father,' I'll be grossed out, you know." Padmé couldn't hide a slight smile. Anakin chuckled.  
  
"Not like a father. But, he's a part of my life. I grew up with him, and now we're fighting together in the war. And when we're out there, in the middle of nowhere, I go a little crazy, Padmé. All I do is kill, and kill, and kill-- it's for a good cause, but it gets to me, you know? Obi-Wan, he's a part of that, he's right next to me. Actually, he's usually more caught up in the fighting than I am. So he's there, and I'm there, and... it's just that. He's there. You're not."  
  
Padmé leaned her head against Anakin's chest, carefully listening out for the beat of his heart. "He shares a part of you I'll never know."  
  
"It's a part you don't want to see."  
  
"I want to see all of you, Annie."  
  
"Don't be jealous, Padmé. I tell you everything."  
  
"I know." There, there was his heartbeat. She closed her eyes. "I know."  
  
  
_**a guise of gentle words (awkward)**_  
  
"Senator Amidala." He nods. "What a pleasure to encounter you by chance like this."  
  
"The pleasure is all mine, General Kenobi," Padmé replies with a stiff smile. "I am glad to see that you have returned in one piece."  
  
"As I am I."  
  
An awkward silence follows.   
  
"I hear that you spent the last couple of months in the Outer Rim," she offers, a conversation topic, "together with Lieutenant Skywalker."  
  
"Yes, quite, we did. I wouldn't be here right now if it weren't for him, he watched my back."  
  
"Has he now," she is still smiling but her voice is sharp, “I suppose you‘ve been watching his too.”   
  
Distinctly uncomfortable, “It’s what the Jedi do, Senator.”  
  
“How commendable. If you’ll excuse me, General, I shall be late if I dally any longer.”  
  
“Pardon me for taking your time.”  
  
“Not at all, General. Stay in good health.”  
  
“You too, Senator.”  
  
  
_**exeunt omens (go)**_  
  
"I have to go." Anakin is almost apologetic.  
  
Obi-Wan knew this all along that he would say this, just as he knows to whom he is going. He nods. "Go, then."  
  
Something in Anakin's face twists, as though disappointed with Obi-Wan's reply. "Master, I--"  
  
"Sometimes silence is enough."   
  
Anakin doesn't agree, and his silence is resentful. But at least he accepts it. Obi-Wan watches as Anakin picks his clothes out of the tangled pile, dresses himself. Unlike the care he took with Obi-Wan striptease earlier, he is now fast, mechanical. He keeps his gaze down, and it is not until he pulls his left glove on that Anakin looks at him. Obi-Wan can tell he is considering kissing him one last time; no, not for the last time, but the first of a whole new round. "Go," Obi-Wan repeats. "Didn't you have to go?"  
  
"Right," Anakin says. "Okay. I'll see you later, I guess."  
  
"Tomorrow, actually. We have to work on the mission report summary."  
  
"Oh, yeah. Okay. See ya."  
  
"Goodnight, Anakin."  
  
Stronger than anything else, what Obi-Wan feels is relief. He sleeps more soundly than he has in months.   
  
  
_**dante in hell (immortality)**_  
  
When you are Darth Vader, you become used, or as much as is possible, to living in a cage. It becomes a point of pride. You could not die. Any normal human being would have died from the shock of blood loss, and if not from that, then from the flames that ate away, layer by layer, skin and nerves and muscles. But you are special, you are strong. You would not die, and that is why you here, in this suit. So you have become physically incapacitated. So what. Your connection to the Dark Side of the Force has made you stronger than any being in the galaxy, stronger than your current and only Master. You could overthrow him any time you chose, you just chose not to. The power is yours, you can kill with mere thought. Immortality and control over death, those are power, and power is all you need.   
  
  
_**scenes from the life of a double monster (denial)**_  
  
"Eight-feet tall--"  
  
"Black as sin--"  
  
"Can't breath on his own, it's all machines--"  
  
"Kills everything in sight--"  
  
"You think he's even human?"  
  
Something like "fucking bloody gossiping idiots" would be running through Obi-Wan's head if he weren't so drunk that having articulate thoughts were impossible. As it was, he shook his head, tried to drink more from his already empty glass.


End file.
